Pious
by BitterSongOfGrace
Summary: Ivar is bloodthirsty, and Alfred is, well, thirsty. Captive!Alfred. M/M - Ivar/Alfred Rated M for smut. Other warnings will be added accordingly.


**A/N:** WARNING! Male/Male Smut ahead. Future chapters will also contain smut. Let me know what you think!

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The joy and bliss brought on by the Battle of York would be unparalleled, Ivar knew. The simple pleasures of life would no longer be, not in comparison to the bloodshed and gore that flashed to mind every instant that he closed his eyes.

His hands ached for the chance to slice into flesh again. His fingertips trembled at the thought of enemy blood soaking his skin. He could almost taste the copper on his tongue with every sip of water.

These are the thoughts that led him to the chambers of Alfred, his Christian captive.

The sound of heavy wood against stone mantle and a view of the prince locked to the floor by chains gave Ivar chills. A credit to his bravery, the figure before him did not flinch. He glanced backwards, eyes passive, before returning his gaze to the bound book on the floor.

Ivar's original plan to barter with Aethelwulf for Alfred's life seemed the best course of action. But after more thought, that course seemed almost predictable.

On one hand, Alfred being captured was a moment Ivar considered to be orchestrated by the Gods. How else could he explain the encounter in that rat and corpse infested alley of York? A stumble and fear brought the Wessex Prince to his knees in front of Ivar's axe, and Ivar the Boneless could only laugh in glee.

Weeks had passed since that moment, and Ivar internally battled over the little Prince's fate - to benefit his army or to satisfy his craving for blood.

Let it be known that Ivar the Boneless would always satisfy his own urges.

At least perhaps a hand or two. Maybe an ear, like the prince's mother.

"I suppose you are here with a purpose," said Alfred to the book.

Ivar reached for knife in his tunic as Alfred turned, settling to face him with his hands in his lap. The prince moved as if he wasn't rooted to one place by chains.

"I'm happy you've came," the prince said, a soft smile on his lips.

Ivar paused, interest piqued. "Your captor has come to see you, with a purpose, and you are happy?"

Alfred grinned, tugging at the iron links. "Loneliness is my current torment. I'd be happy to speak with anyone." He gave Ivar a look that Ivar couldn't quite place in the moment. "But you... Well, I can't say it doesn't especially please me that you've came."

 _Suspicious._ Ivar's eyes narrowed.

"Would you like to sit?" Alfred asked, looking at a chair in the corner.

"Are you saying that I should sit because I am a cripple?" Ivar said lowly, anger rising.

Alfred laughed slightly. "A good host always offers a seat."

Ivar calmed. He thought to himself that now should be the moment to cut the shit, to see the red beneath that pale skin. It wouldn't take much to subdue the lithe body below him.

Somehow, without his knowledge, Ivar's body was moving the chair in front of Alfred and taking a seat.

"Once, there was a time we sat before one another almost like this. It seems like yesterday to me."

Ivar scoffed. "It's been ages. I've conquered an army since then."

Alfred smiled. "Indeed you have. You're no longer the captive in my Grandfather's castle, instead I'm the captive in yours. It feels very different," the smaller man shifted. "I find that I still feel very much the same."

"Perhaps you should grow then. You look very much the same," Ivar said.

Alfred flushed. "I've grown some. Not all of us are meant to be the size of Vikings."

Ivar smirked. "Some aren't meant to grow at all if I'm to properly look at you."

Alfred rattled his chains again, fidgeting. "Well, I suppose you're very happy with your maturity."

That comment felt very pointed. He didn't know whether to be insulted or praised. Ivar propped his head with his palm, elbow resting on the arm of his chair. "Many are _very happy_ with my maturity."

Alfred gave him that look again. "I can see why."

This time, Ivar recognized the look. Ubbe and Bjorn and Hvitserk with their conquests- _want._

The Christian prince _wanted Ivar._

"You-"

Before Ivar could insinuate anything, Alfred was on his knees in front of Ivar. His shackles were just long enough to reach, and Alfred placed an iron-heavy set of hands on the Vikings thigh.

"I dreamed of you. Too many times. I never thought that I would see you again, so I felt safe from my desires. But you came back," Alfred declared. His eyes were a shade darker, and his flush traveled from face to skin unseen past his collar. Ivar wondered how far the flush went.

"My my, such sinful words come from your lips. What would your father think?" Ivar leaned forward, fisting the chain that linked Alfred's hands together. He could feel the warm breath passing from Alfred's lips, and he supposed that, if his dick was anything to go by, he must want Alfred too.

Alfred cocked his head. "Considering Athelstan's past, I believe he would be quite understanding." The Christian pulled at Ivar's grip and slipped his hand further up his thigh. He kept Ivar's gaze, even as he palmed Ivar's swelling manhood.

This was the water that broke the dam. Ivar quickly keyed the chains until Alfred was no longer bound to the floor, only his hands linked together by shackles. Ivar pulled, and Alfred climbed into the chair with no hesitation. His slender thighs fit perfect as he straddled Ivar's lap.

Moving chest to chest, Alfred leaned into Ivar in a half-embrace. He could feel breath on his skin as the prince nuzzled into the crook of his neck and shoulder.

"You have no idea how often I've dreamed of this."

Ivar did not know how to respond. He didn't have the chance before Alfred looped his bound hands over the viking's head and around his neck. They were almost magnetic, mouths meeting in a searing kiss.

Alfred kissed like a drowning man and Ivar was the air he needed. Ivar returned it with full force, mapping the inside of smaller man's mouth with his tongue. Ivar's hands made their way to the slim waist in his lap, moving underneath the tunic to touch the soft skin of his hips.

Alfred seemed to like that, grinding his manhood. It was wanton and hot and Ivar was not prepared for this sort of confrontation.

Ivar tried to follow with his mouth as the prince pulled away. Alfred unlinked his hands from Ivar's neck and reached down, wrestling Ivar's dick from his trousers. It took seconds for Alfred to slip from Ivar's grasp onto the floor and cover his dick with the warmth of his mouth.

" _Gods..."_ Ivar groaned. He tipped his head back as Alfred grasped the base with his hand and began stroking with every suck.

And as Alfred licked the head of his dick before swallowing him whole, Ivar knew that there was bliss outside of battle. Ivar's bliss swam in the sea-colored eyes of a Christian Prince, gazing with reverence and want.

Alfred continued to suck his dick, the momentum growing steadily faster. He grabbed a handful of hair, pulling to increase the pace.

Before long, Ivar felt the pleasure and tension in his groin tighten, and he sailed over the edge. He felt himself ejaculate several times, all into the little Christian's mouth.

Ivar expected Alfred to instinctively spit out his seed, but instead saw the other man swallow. It was unpredictable and tempting Ivar all over again. As Alfred wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the Viking reached for his hair again, pulling him into another passionate kiss.

They eventually broke away, lips wet and bruised, breathing uneven.

"This is not what I expected," Ivar admitted.

Alfred laughed, light and airy. His smile was small but beautiful. "Thank you for letting me indulge."

Ivar narrowed his eyes. "I wish to indulge also."

Alfred continued smiling. "Would it be too much to ask for a bath before?"

Somehow, Ivar almost felt this was planned. Whether it be by Alfred or the Gods, he did not know.

"Fine," Ivar said, standing and tucking himself into his trousers. "Come along before I change my mind."


End file.
